


I Was Enchanted (To Meet You)

by linksofmemories



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, First Kiss, Hints of Mates, Inspired by Music, M/M, Stiles doesn't know about Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linksofmemories/pseuds/linksofmemories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles turned around, grabbing a tiny pretzel sandwich before looking back to the floor, and locking eyes with someone across the room. This was fine. Things like this happened. You locked eyes and then you quickly looked away and pretended that the other person didn’t exist.</p><p>Except Stubble McDreamy with the gorgeous green eyes wasn’t looking away and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look away either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Enchanted (To Meet You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BFive0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFive0/gifts).



> One of these days I'll stop writing fics inspired by Taylor Swift songs. That day is not today. [So, here's a link.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSMOcaZlMUI)

This wasn’t the first one he had attended, but he was (selfishly) hoping that it would be his last. His dad was probably the best sheriff Beacon Hills had ever seen and it wasn’t uncommon for him to do some dangerously heroic thing (run into a burning building, take a bullet, etc) that impressed the town so much that they gave him a medal.

It was always funny watching him get ready for the big night, putting all of his nervous energy into pestering Stiles about making himself look nicer. _You could at least brush your hair a bit more. Pick a less wrinkled shirt. Straighten your tie. Wear your new dress shoes; I don’t care how much they hurt your feet. The Martin girl is going to be there. Don’t you want to impress her?_

And Stiles would always roll his eyes, complying, before making a comment about the back of his dad’s shirt being un-tucked.

The banter was normal in the Stilinski household, but the activity rarely ever happened. They were jeans and t-shirt men and Stiles couldn’t see that changing much. Even though it might change since the mayor (Mr. Adam Hale who had a soft spot for the Stilinskis since his wife, Talia, had been friends with Stiles’ mom) kept wanting to throw fancy events for his dad.

(“It’s because you never attend all the ones that I invite you to, John.” “So you throw ones in my honor so that I have to go?” “Exactly.”)

This particular event was thrown on a Saturday in November because his dad had recovered from a culprit cutting his arm with a knife. He didn’t even have to get stitches, but apparently getting a tiny cut was a valiant thing in the Hales’ eyes.

Stiles looked across the room, seeing his dad and Mrs. McCall talking with Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Scott was around here somewhere, probably hooking up with Allison in one of the bathrooms. Lydia Martin was there, but she was wrapped up in Jackson Whittemore’s arms as he talked to a group of middle-aged men.

He sighed, leaning against the snack table he had been hovering around all night, biting into a tiny tart. Up until recently he had been on the other end of an interrogation from old lady Mrs. Parkinson who wanted to know what his college plans were for next year. He had managed to tell her Stanford before having to listen to her tell a story about her grandson who attended Berkley. He was also 98% positive that she had been the one to slap his ass about five minutes ago.

And he really didn’t want to look into that.

“Bored?”

“Not at all,” Stiles said, shoving the rest of the tart into his mouth.

Laura Hale leaned against the table next to him, picking up a brownie, examining it, before shoving the whole thing into her mouth. His kind of woman.

“Is that sarcasm I detect?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“Yep, that’s sarcasm.”

“I’m just tired of these things,” he sighed. “I love my dad and I’ll support him forever, but these things aren’t really necessary.”

“Oh they are,” she said. “Especially this one.”

“You’re being cryptic on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Laura said, picking at the cheese tray. “This one has a very direct purpose correlated towards you.”

His eye was twitching. He knew that it was. It always had a habit of doing it when he was around Laura, who teased him and gave him the vaguest answers to every question he asked. Cora wasn’t even as bad as Laura, and Cora made a point of making fun of Stiles whenever she saw him.

“Have you talked to Cora tonight?” Laura asked, as if reading his thoughts.

“Kinda don’t want to interrupt that just to chat,” Stiles said, looking across the room.

Past a dancing Erica and Boyd (i.e. the only couple at BHHS that Stiles could actually stand) was Cora sitting on Isaac Lahey’s lap and trying to suck his tongue out of his mouth. At least that was what it looked like.

“Huh,” Laura said. “Good point.”

She popped a cube of Swiss cheese into her mouth before patting him on the head. “See you around, Stiles.”

And then she was walking through the middle of the dance floor, grabbing the collar of a random man’s shirt (a random man who he was almost positive was Chris Argent) and making him dance with her.

He sighed, once again resigning to the fact that he was alone, before grabbing another tart from the table. Everyone was with someone or hooking up and he was just as alone and virginal as ever. That seemed to be all anyone ever knew him as these days anyway.

Couples were dancing and talking and probably making plans for double dates and he was stuck by the snack table, eating finger foods and having his ass slapped by women in their 80s.

Living the dream.

Stiles turned around, grabbing a tiny pretzel sandwich before looking back to the floor, and locking eyes with someone across the room. This was fine. Things like this happened. You locked eyes and then you quickly looked away and pretended that the other person didn’t exist.

Except Stubble McDreamy with the gorgeous green eyes wasn’t looking away and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look away either. He was stupidly attractive and apparently not that invested in the conversation he had been in. Because he was keeping eye contact with Stiles and his mouth was twitched up into a smile, giving Stiles his full attention as if he was trying to have a conversation with him. The guy was literally trying to converse Stiles with his _eyes_.

He raised a hand, motioning a finger between the two of them and tilting his head to the side. “ _Have we met_?”

Maybe. Possibly. Stubble McDreamy probably wasn’t even asking that.

But he did look familiar in a weird way. Stiles couldn’t place him though so he frowned, shaking his head a bit before shrugging. And if that wasn’t a mixed signal, than Stiles didn’t know what was.

The smile on Stubble McDreamy’s (okay, he needed to know this guy’s name, hopefully it was something embarrassing like Sheldon Marvin Garfunkel) widened and he turned back to the group he had been chatting with. After a quick round of what was probably goodbyes, McDreamy made his way across the floor.

And Stiles panicked. Because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t flirt or be cute or charming. He looked around the room quickly, searching for an escape.

His dad? Dancing with Mrs. McCall.

Scott? Still nowhere to be found.

Allison? Also nowhere to be found.

Lydia? All over Jackson.

Cora? Yep, tongue still tangled with Lahey’s.

Boyd and Erica? Snuggling while dancing and dammit they were cute.

Laura? Feeling up Mr. Argent, oh God, he needed brain bleach to—

“Stiles, right?”

Oh no. He looked to his left, seeing McDreamy right in front of him and even dreamier up close. And also really good at making Stiles feel underdressed. McDreamy was in a suit, looking like he had walked out of the pages of GQ, while Stiles was wearing a button-down shirt tucked into khaki pants with a _Doctor Who_ necktie.

“Yeah,” Stiles finally said. “How’d you know that?”

“This thing is being held in your father’s honor, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles nodded. “It’s not like he even did anything to deserve it though.”

McDreamy’s eyebrows raised at that and Stiles instantly started to backpedal. “Not that he doesn’t deserve nice things, because he does. He’s #1 Sheriff and all that, it’s just that the premise for this thing is a more than a little dumb. And okay, it’s not dumb, because he does important work. It’s just—I mean…The Hale family really likes us.”

“I know,” McDreamy nodded, looking amused by Stiles’ rant more than anything.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m Derek Hale.”

And of fucking course he was.

Derek Hale was something of a celebrity in Beacon Hills even though he had been absent from the town for almost 14 years. Apparently a few months before his 12th birthday Derek had moved to New York to go to boarding school and then stayed there to get a degree in architecture. Going from the rumors around town he was some kind of hotshot over there, having his own firm and everything.

Now here he was, back in Beacon Hills and talking with Stiles out of everyone.

“I didn’t know if you’d recognize me,” Derek said. “I haven’t seen you since you were…very young.”

“Yeah, I was like five when you left,” Stiles nodded.

Oh the awkward silence. He should have seen this coming. Derek was just trying to be nice, coming over to talk to the kid of a family friend. He was probably about to ask about Stiles’ college plans like everyone else did at these things.

“Nice tie,” Derek commented.

Or not.

Stiles looked down at his tie that was littered with tiny TARDISes (TARDI? What _was_ the plural?). His heart beat sped up and he looked up at Derek with a big grin. “You watch _Doctor Who_?”

“Of course,” Derek shrugged. “It’s cool.”

And if Derek was attractive before he was officially the sexiest guy Stiles had ever met now.

The fairytale scenario would probably continue with Derek asking Stiles to dance and then talking some more and then taking him home. Maybe he’d offer Stiles his jacket and kiss him on the cheek outside of his house. Maybe Stiles would introduce Derek to his dad and Derek would have asked his dad for Stiles’ hand in marriage.

But the real life scenario ended in them making out in the bathroom, Stiles sitting on the sink and Derek biting away at his neck.

He couldn’t say that he was that disappointed. They had talked for a while and then Derek had proposed they go to somewhere more private and who was Stiles to say no?

Even though he didn’t really get how a public bathroom was more private.

“You do know that I’m 17, right?” Stiles asked, head tilted back against the mirror as Derek marked his neck.

And his dad was totally going to give him a lecture when he saw the hickies, but Stiles just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I know,” Derek said, hands slipping up under Stiles’ un-tucked shirt. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

“Good enough for me,” Stiles shrugged before moving in for another kiss.

He honestly hadn’t been expecting to have his first kiss in a bathroom with Derek Hale, but he couldn’t really complain. Derek was a good kisser and he was treating kissing Stiles like it was the best thing he’d ever gotten.

Which probably wasn’t true. Derek was gorgeous and from what Stiles could tell, very experienced. There was probably someone waiting for him in New York. Someone he was in love with. They just had an open relationship because that was all the cool New Yorkers did. And he’d go home after this weekend and tell his boyfriend or girlfriend about the stupid teenager he had screwed in the bathroom at one of his family’s events.

His kissing had become less enthusiastic and more vacant after that and Derek noticed, pulling away with a puzzled expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No, something’s…” Derek started before pulling away. “I’m sorry, I moved too fast.”

“What?” Stiles asked. “No. I like where this is going. I like fast, fast is good.”

He wasn’t expecting it to feel this way. He hadn’t been expecting to want to have feelings about the first person he hooked up with.

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Well, you’re hiding something.”

“Dude, I barely know you, I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“But you want to.”

And God he just wanted to punch this asshole in his smug face. Or kiss him. He honestly didn’t know which one he wanted to do more.

“I’m jealous,” Stiles admitted even though he didn’t know why.

“Of who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have one of those either.”

“Everyone you’ve ever had sex with.”

“That’s a little unfair.”

“You know what?” Stiles said, sliding down from the edge of the counter. “Forget it. I’m an idiot teenager and you’re going to laugh about this with all of your cool New York friends.”

He had taken maybe two steps away from Derek when the older man grabbed his hand, pulling him back to him. Stiles was more than prepared to push him away when Derek placed a hand on his cheek, thumb stroking his face.

“Before didn’t mean anything,” Derek said. “None of that meant anything to me. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you, Stiles. My mom sent me Christmas cards every year and I saw you grow into this beautiful man in front of me. You don’t know how much I’ve thought about you.”

Red flags should have been popping up but Derek said it all in such a tender way that he couldn’t even think about running away. And something about Derek just pulled him in, made him feel like he had waited a long time for Derek too.

Because he could have had his first kiss with someone else. Spin-the-Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven were popular entertainment at parties, and Stiles was always invited to play. Hell, last year Heather had asked him if they wanted to lose their virginities to each other.

He had had plentiful opportunities to be intimate with other people, but he had always declined. And before he had thought that it was because of Lydia, but now, with Derek pressed up against him and looking at him with so much care, he wasn’t sure that was the case.

“I don’t—”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Derek interjected. “Just let us have this for a little bit longer.”

And Stiles wasn’t really in any position to say no.

Derek kissed him again and Stiles let himself just get lost in it. He liked Derek and Derek was a good kisser and he couldn’t see anything bad about what they were doing. Especially since it felt like Derek was setting every nerve in his body on fire just by kissing him.

A tongue was slipped into his mouth and he accepted it, tightening his arms around Derek’s neck. He knew he was probably being a little embarrassing since his utter lack of experience paled in comparison to Derek’s experience, but if anything it seemed to turn on Derek even more.

It got more and more enthusiastic as time passed and soon his tie was on the floor with Derek’s jacket and Derek was unbuttoning his shirt and _fuck_ was this really happening?

“Derek,” he breathed out when their lips parted, in more encouragement than protest.

“Fuck, I know.”

He pressed up against Stiles and he let out a ridiculous moan at Derek’s body being so close to his. This was insane and they were in a bathroom and why had no one walked in on them yet?

“Derek.”

And oh fuck, he didn’t actually want someone to walk in on them.

It was Talia Hale (which just made everything so much worse), but Stiles couldn’t even see her because Derek was blocking him from view and growling? Wait, no, he couldn’t be growling, that was just…But it seriously sounding like he was growling.

“Derek,” Talia repeated, her voice sounding deeper and firmer. “Why don’t you take Stiles home?”

Was she seriously implying what he thought she was implying?

“I’ll be sure to inform John,” she continued. “Even though I’m sure he’ll want to rush right home after hearing that his only and underage son was getting sick in the bathroom.”

Or not.

There was a tense silence and Stiles couldn’t even see anything, Derek still crowded in front of him.

“Understood, Derek?”

“Understood,” Derek sighed, sounding defeated.

“Good,” Talia said. “Stiles, I’ll see you and your father for brunch tomorrow.”

And then there was the clack of high heels against tile floor before the bathroom door shut. Silence stretched out between them and Derek slowly turned around. He picked his jacket and Stiles’ tie from the floor, slinging the jacket over his shoulder before offering Stiles the tie.

Stiles straightened up his appearance as best as he could while Derek leaned against the counter, a pinched expression on his face.

“Regretting it already?” Stiles joked, optioning to just hang his tie around his neck instead of tying it.

“No,” Derek said. “Just regretting getting caught because now Laura is going to tease me for months.”

“Yeah, that’s Laura,” Stiles nodded. “And there’s no way you could have prevented us getting caught.”

Derek gave him a look as if to say “You have no idea” and Stiles chose not to look too much into it. They left the bathroom, Derek with a hand on the small of his back and guiding him down the hall while Stiles attempted to look sick. Scott and Allison came tumbling out of a spare room, giggling with their mouths still attached to each other’s. They didn’t even notice them though and Derek was quick about moving them away.

Eventually they made it to the parking lot, Stiles hugging his arms as the cold hit him. It took about two seconds for Derek to drape his jacket over his shoulders and Stiles rolled his eyes at the cliché of it all. They headed to a black Camaro that Stiles had never seen around town before.

“You drove from New York?” Stiles asked as Derek opened his door for him (which was just bizarre and strange and Stiles wasn’t complaining).

“Plane travel’s boring,” Derek shrugged.

“And car travel isn’t?”

The entire ride home was focused on a conversation of different kinds of travel and Stiles never thought he could talk this much with anyone. Of course he talked a lot _at_ people, but no one had been ever to carry a conversation with him like Derek could.

Derek parked in front of his house and they sat in silence, Stiles looking at his lap and Derek looking at him.

“What are your plans for college?”

“Stanford.”

“Good school.”

“Yeah.”

He was grateful when Derek kissed him again, making silence from a good thing rather than waiting to say the awkward goodbye.

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” Derek promised, his mouth still brushing against Stiles’.

“Good, because I’m kinda confused.”

Derek gave him another kiss, shorter but still lingering, before Stiles forced himself to get out of the car.

**OoOoOoO**

The next morning he went downstairs already showered and dressed in his khakis from last night and a clean button-down shirt. (“Brunch at the Hales’, Stiles. Dress nicely.” “Dad, we’re gonna go over there and Cora’s gonna be in sweatpants.” “You should still make an effort.”) His dad was reading the paper and eyeing an envelope on Stiles’ placemat suspiciously.

“Morning,” Stiles greeted, reaching into the fridge to grab the milk.

“That was in the mailbox,” his dad said, nodding toward the stack.

“It’s Sunday.”

“I know.”

They both looked at the envelope and Stiles walked toward the table, picking it up. His name was written on the front in a handwriting he didn’t recognize. He opened it, looking inside and taking out a single brochure. There was a post-it note attached to the front with the same handwriting on it:

 _Just consider it_.

It was a brochure for Columbia University. Stiles grinned.


End file.
